Night Shift
by Naty Mu
Summary: Katniss has been working in a psychiatric hospital for only three weeks when the suspect of the most gruesome murders in the history of Panem is brought in for psychiatric evaluation. When she discovers that it's Peeta Mellark, the kind-hearted boy with whom she went to school for fourteen years, her interest in the case spikes. Written for PIP (Red). Inspired in Eminem's song 3 am


_**Night Shift**_

_Trigger warnings__: Depictions of violence, blood and substance abuse. This is a story about murder after all. Also, I would like to state that I am a medic and I have work in psychiatric hospitals, but this is set in a fictional place with fictional laws so there is a lot of creative license. _

* * *

Night shifts are usually calm and quiet. Sometimes one of the patients on the left wing—the ones that are here because they have some sort of addiction—gets anxious and tries to escape, probably to have a drink, a sniff or whatever they do, but most nights there are no altercations. We simply take turns to make rounds and watch the patients on the monitor.

That is why these are my favorite shifts. I've been working here two nights, while also doing a day shift for the past three weeks. I don't get paid for it, but it will look great on my application for Nurse School next year. And it's a great place to work. The nurses and the doctors all have been very nice to me and seem very pleased with my work. I don't do much either, but I learn a lot from my coworkers, and in the night shifts I am allowed to study a little, which is a lot more that I would do at home where the internet is constantly distracting me.

There is no reason for me to suspect this night shift would be any different, until everything is turned upside down with his arrival well after 3 am. The air becomes instantly electric, and the patients all seem to sense it. Nobody is in their rooms, despite our orders for them to go back to them, when the doors burst open and his screams interrupt the, so far, calmness of the night.

I don't get to see him at first. I am too busy moving the rest of the patients into the next room, while he is being flanked by at least three police officers. Nobody told us he was coming in, so the nurses immediately panic since they are nowhere ready to sedate him. I can hear them running around in the nurse station, preparing the sedative, directing the officers to take the new inmate to the available room.

When another volunteer relieves me, I go to see how I can help. I pride myself of being very good at my work, very careful of how I treat the patients and quick on my feet at every situation. But nothing prepares me for what I see when I reach the room where they are trying to hold him down.

His eyes are blood-shot and out of focus, no trace of the shining blue I remember but completely black from his dilated pupils. His golden curls are disheveled and covered in what seems to be dried blood. His face is contorted in a mixture of pain, anger and fear, and his movements are erratic and wild.

But I still recognized him. Even though he looks nothing like himself, like the boy I remember sharing a classroom in school with for fourteen years, the boy who gave me his sandwich the day when I was eleven and I didn't bring lunch because my mother was too depressed over my father and sister's deaths to remember to make me lunch in the first place. And I am frozen in my spot when he turns to me and looks at me right in the eye.

At first I think he recognizes me, the way he zeros in on me across the room. The way he launches himself at me, maybe I think he is coming to ask for my help. I can't even explain to myself why I don't react. But then his hands are around my throat, squeezing the air out of me. I panic, knowing I have no chance to defend myself from this strong, wild man, but then I see the rage draining out of his features and the hold on my neck loosens until they can pull him away from me.

I hold my neck in my hands, caressing the bruised skin, while the personnel carries the now unconscious Peeta Mellark to his bed, where he'll be restrained. Nurse Boggs, a tall, dark skinned man, who apparently was the responsible for saving me, looks at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Go take a break, Miss Katniss" he says, dismissing me from the room.

I walk away from the scene, feeling utterly defeated and very confused. I never knew much of Peeta Mellark, but it's still hard to reconcile this image with the memories of a smiley boy with golden curls and a sunny disposition. And he was brought here by police officers, which usually indicates some sort of alleged crime.

"Everdeen, wait up" a familiar voice brings me back from my eerie thoughts. I look around to find a mop of curly red hair and bright eyes looking curiously at me. "Someone it's a little distracted today. You walked right by me and didn't even notice" Darius pouts, feigning being hurt. His childish attitude makes me laugh, a completely ridiculous image for a man wearing a police officer uniform.

"Sorry, Darius. That new patient left me a little confused," I explain.

"Ugh, I know what you mean. Who would have thought that the ever smiling Peeta Mellark could be capable of committing such a atrocious crime?" he ponders out loud.

"Atrocious crime?" I hiss in horror. Darius cringes.

"Don't repeat this, but they say it was like a scene out of a horror movie. Blood everywhere and severed limbs." He pauses, all trace of playfulness gone from his features. "He's very dangerous, Everdeen. Be careful".

After Darius and the rest of the other policemen leave, our new inmate is left is his room. He's still sedated and expected to remain that way until morning. I try to obtain more information from the personnel, but there's very little. The police left behind some paper forms, but his case is mostly confidential, so it's not very detailed.

It's around 7 am, when the personnel from the next shift arrives, that we get more news about the whole ordeal. It's Cressida, another volunteer, who fills us in the scoop, since apparently it has been all over the news.

"This guy, Peeta Meellirk…" she says.

"Mellark," I correct her but she ignores me.

"He was found by his mother, who had gone to some charity event, in the middle of the living room surrounded by the severed bodies of his father and older brother…drenched in their blood or something. They are talking about a ritual sacrifice".

"He was a little dirty, but I doubt he took a bath in it," Nurse Jackson cuts her off.

"Anyway, they say he was really aggressive and they had to call three units of policemen to control him," she continues.

"That we did saw," chimes in Nurse Boggs. "He attacked Miss Katniss when he got here."

Cressida turns to me, wide-eyed. "Oh, God, Katniss. That's so scary!"

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, like I didn't feel like I was going to die in that moment. Like it wouldn't have happened if it weren't for Nurse Boggs. The conversation eventually dies out and they start talking about more trivial things, like movies or parties.

Today is Saturday, so I don't have classes to attend. I stay way over the end of my shift, listening carefully all the information the nurses share with each other and with the doctors. Doctor Aurelius, a grey haired man with thick glasses, is assigned to the case. He is supposed to evaluate his mental health, to establish if he is responsible or not for the deaths of his father and older brother.

I am about to leave when the doctor pulls me away and asks me if I can go see him in his office. "Miss Everdeen, please take a seat," he smiles at me. I have always like doctor Aurelius. He's very quiet and polite, and all his patients seem to like him. He's especially sweet with us, the volunteers, always offering us help to get books from the library or the recent articles from the medical magazines.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright after what happened last night," he tells me when I am seated across from him in his office.

"I'm fine. Don't worry," I shrug, but I'm unconsciously rubbing my still sore neck. "Nurse Boggs stepped in really fast".

"Yes, that's good. I'm glad he was there," he agrees. "Did he caught you off guard? You never seem to have problems taking care of yourself and he's not our first aggressive patient".

"No… I mean, yes" I stumble over my words. The doctor lifts an eyebrow in question and I sigh. "I think he might have recognize me or something… I knew him… from school". Doctor Aurelius nods absentmindedly. "I never expected him to be here," I add.

"Well, his mother says he's been acting strangely for months now. She mentioned an incident with his friend, Finnick. But apparently the boy didn't want to press charges against him."

"I could help you get information from school and our old classmates if you need anything," I suggest.

"Miss Everdeen, I don't think you should get involved in his case if you already know him," Doctor Aurelius admonishes. I shake my head. He might be right, I'm too close, I'm not objective about this at all, but I can't let him see that.

"We were never close or anything. We went to school together but ran in completely different circles. We were never friends. Barely even talk to each other so nothing to worry," I explain. All of this is true and yet I feel as if I were lying. Even if we were never friends I still feel a certain connection to this boy, who helped me in times of need. The doctor gives me a look, like he does not believe me so I insist, "I'm not too close. I've not seen him in years. No conflict of interest, I swear".

The doctor lets me go and I go home to try and sleep a couple hours before I study for the upcoming exam I have next week, but my mind remains in the hospital. I keep on wondering how is Peeta doing, how did he came to that… I never knew much of him, but he always seemed pretty normal to me. Definitely not the time you peg for a murderer.

Eventually I give up on sleeping and turn on the television. The local news only talk about the Baker Slicer, which is how they call him, a pun on them being a family of bakers that they must assume is clever instead of disrespectful, but they share no new information. They show bits of a press conference thrown by Commander Cray and District Attorney Abernathy, which is mainly dodging questions about information they had no disclosed yet and calling the population to remain calm. But is their incessant mindless comments what finally loll me to sleep.

The news seems to die pretty quickly with no new development in the case. At the hospital I resume my normal tasks and hear occasionally about his progress. They keep him very sedated at first since every time they try to take them off he gets extremely agitated. But, as the first week passes, he seems to calm down a bit.

By the time they start wearing him off the sedation, I unintentionally end up on his care when Rue, the other volunteer on my shift, begs me to take her place. "Please, Katniss, his story freaks me out. I really don't think I can do it," she tells me. So we switch the assigned rooms and get on with the work. It's almost midnight when I finally go into his room to check up on him.

"Hi," he smiles in my direction.

"Hello, Peeta," I answer him with the soft calming voice I use with patients. "My name is Katniss Everdeen and I am…"

"I remember you, Katniss," he interrupts me, his face bright red. I nod, trying to fight the scowl that threatens so appear on my face. Why is he acting so bashful? I don't remember him being shy at school. He was always surrounded by friends and probably had many girlfriends. Is he embarrassed about being here? That thought deflates my anger. His blush probably has got more to do with guilt than me.

"Yes, we went to school together. I remember you too," I say and he lifts his gaze to me. "How are you feeling now? Without all those sedatives, I mean…"

"I'm okay, I guess", he answers. "Everything is still a little fuzzy, though. How long have I…?"

"Two weeks," I reply and his face contorts in pain. "You were very intoxicated, so it took a while to get it out of your system."

"Intoxicated?" he asks. "Like… drugs?"

I give him my best condemning look. He should not lie to us. Well, he should not lie to the doctor and nurses, I don't really have much say on his care. "Isn't that why you were so out of yourself that night?"

"What do you mean? I don't do drugs! I mean… I did marihuana like a couple of times in college, but it's been over a year by now…"

"Has anyone come here to visit me?" he asks after a moment of silence.

I shake my head "Not that I know of… but I don't think they're allowed to," I answer him. He gives me sad smile and remains quiet for the rest of the time it takes me to check on his vitals and give him his medication. When I turn to leave he calls my name "It was nice to see you, Katniss," he tells me. "I mean… It's nice to see a familiar face."

I smile tightly at that. How lonely he must be here, locked up with no real prospects of visits, and a future that might only promise time in prison. And even though they said he is dangerous, I am in not real danger in here with all the cameras and peoples making constant rounds.

So, after that I make sure I see him in all my shifts.

Meanwhile, the doctors are finally able to evaluated him now that he's finally conscious. The nurses tell me that they interview him everyday in the double mirror room and spend hours after talking about his case.

At lunch, Johanna Mason and Madge Undersee, the interns on the program, talk about the case with me. "His mental exam was not the one of a patient with schizophrenia, nor does his previous history add up," Johanna insists.

"I don't think it's organic. You saw the MRI. It was clean," Madge replies. "And I am not saying schizophrenia is the only option, but his psychosis is…"

"Oh, come on! You saw how out of it he was," Johanna interrumpts her. "I think it was substance abuse."

"It can't be," Madge glares at her.

"Why not?" I ask.

"We ran test on his blood and urine to check on substance abuse," she tells me. "They all came back clean."

"It could be something we're not testing," Johanna quips. Madge rolls her eyes and we continue with our lunch in silence for a couple of minutes, until Johanna smirks at me "Someone told me you knew him from before…"

"We went to school together," I admit. I guess I should not be surprised that they heard about it, but it still bothers me. It feels like they're reading too much into my interest in his case.

"Please tell me you made out with him, at least! Or you blew him!"

"Johanna!" Madge squirms in her seat.

I narrow my eyes at her, but she only laughs. "Don't look at me like that, brainless! It was just a question. Besides, if you take away the psychosis he's kind of cute."

Madge rolls her eyes again. "But you can't take out that part. It seems pretty important to me" she says.

"Yeah, you really can't take it away… But I could totally see him becoming the next Tate Langdon, you know?" Johanna looks at us, but we both shrug, unaware of whom that might be. "Tate Langdon! Tate Langdon, dude! My God, you guys really are brainless!" she laughs. "From American Horror Story, the first season. He's this totally hot dude, but a psycho killer… To this day there's chicks swooning over him on the internet."

"I've never watched that," I reply. I remember seeing the ads for that show when it first came out and thinking it looked silly. I definitely was not going to loose my time like that.

"Well, you should binge watch it on Netflix after your exams, Katniss," Johanna smiles right before putting a piece of her lemon pie in her mouth and moaning loudly. Madge laughs at her display. "Seriously, that guy is a total hunk and our intriguing patient could be his stunt double or something".

I ignore the comment and how much I agree with it. Peeta Mellark is very attractive, no doubt about it. But I refuse to act like a schoolgirl in this situation, especially when I didn't at that age. I am supposed to be professional here, and looking at the patients like that—no matter how good looking and charming they might be—it's definitely not professional.

Also, the alleged murder of family murders needs to be taken in consideration. And that's not something I want to discuss with him. However, on my next night shift, it is him who brings up the subject.

"They said—the doctors, I mean—that something happened… I don't remember though"

"Maybe, you're still fuzzy because of the medication…" I try to appear calm, but the direction of this conversation is making me extremely nervous. What if he really does not remember killing his father and brother? Would someone have to tell him? "Maybe the memories will return in a couple of days."

"I'm not sure I want to remember," he hides his face in his hands. "They tell me my father and Rye are dead, Katniss," he sobs.

I look around and sit on the edge of his bed. It's probably not very professional of me to do so, but I can't help my self. He looks so scared and vulnerable.

"Did they tell you how they died?" I don't look him in the eye, too scared to see the monster they portray on the news. Peeta doesn't answer me, rolling to the other side of the bed and hiding his face in his pillow. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch but doesn't recoil so I continue to gently smooth back his hair until he falls asleep.

The next time I see him, he doesn't mention our last conversation and neither do I. Sometimes, in the night shifts he asks me if we can play chess like he does with some of the other volunteers. I admit to him that I don't know how to play, so after dramatically gasping he teaches me how. I'm not very good at it, and he always beats me, but its fun nonetheless.

After he is allowed to get out of his room and interact with the other patients, we play cards. I am excellent at poker, while Peeta always gives away when he's got good cards.

In my house I read everything they publish in the paper about the Baker Slicer, every little gruesome detail the press gets a hand on. How he was found with the corpses, covered in their blood, and yet there're no fingerprints in the murder weapon. How the police found him crying and screaming. How he became violent when they tried to take him away from the bodies.

In a magazine they go as far as publishing a profile of a psychopath. "Stunning lack of conscience", "predators", "deceitful and manipulative" were some of the terms they used. But no matter how much I read, I keep finding difficult to relate this image to the Peeta I've seen at the hospital.

One night, while he helps me putting away the games in the common room, I start thinking that it's strange he never talks about what happened. Does not he remember still? Could he block that out? I have read that it could happen in traumatic events...

"Do you remember anything about… that night?" I ask him. Peeta looks at me, pure despair dripping from his eyes. He shakes his head and looks away, like attempting to hide his shame.

"I must have black out, I guess," he explains. "I only have some flashes of red… blood, I think" as he says this he seems to be turning a little green. His eyes are suddenly filled with tears. "There were body parts all over the floor. I don't remember how they got there but I guess I must have killed them…" His face contorts in pain while he mumbles: "I killed them…"

Something about his demeanor doesn't convince me. I surprise myself by saying: "But, how can you know that if you don't remember doing it?"

"It's the only explanation…that's what everybody says," he murmurs while avoiding eye contact. He apologizes and goes to bed early after that.

The next time I see him, he's back at square one. He gets so agitated that they have to restrain him. They are about to sedate him when he makes eye contact with me. It's so similar to our first encounter when he arrived at the hospital, but this time he looks a lot less menacing. Not only because he's tied up to the bed, but the look he gives me is not one of anger and fear, but one of despair and plea.

I run to his bedside at that moment. I brush the hair out of his forehead and watch him close his eyes, more calm now. Boggs retreats with the sedative and signals me that he will be close, but leaves the room. Peeta opens his eyes, a sparkly blue because of his unshed tears, and seems to silently plea with me.

I don't know what gets to me but I start singing to him a little lullaby I used to sing for my little sister when she had nightmares. After our father died in an accident at the quarry he worked in, she kept on having these horrible nightmares about dying crashed by rocks and not being able to breath. More than once she had panic attack after a particular gruesome dream. In those moments, the only thing that would calm her was when I would hold her and sing to her the lullaby our father used to sing to us when we were little.

When I finish the song, the tears have rolled out of Peeta's eyes, running through his cheeks and leaving wet streaks in them. But he looks almost serene, as if he could stay gazing at me like that forever. "You always had the most beautiful voice, like birds should stop and listen," he says with a raspy voice. "I remember you singing in the first day of class, you know? I had such a big crush on you."

I can feel the blush that covers my face when he says this, but I smile. "I used to sing that song to my sister before she… passed away," I confide. Peeta nods. He must know about my sister, but I find myself wanting to share this with him anyway. "After my father died, she got so sick. She would cry all day, refuse to eat, and she had this horrible nightmares and panic attacks. I tried to help her, but I couldn't."

I try to say the words—_she took her own life_—, but they get stuck on my throat. Peeta lifts his hand to my face and caress my cheek. "My mother is in here also," I tell him. "She couldn't handle everything that happened… I guess that's how I ended up here too, how I'm learning about nursery."

We don't say anything after that. Just stay in comfortable silence until he finally falls asleep. I watch him for a while before leaving. He looks so at peace when he sleeps, nothing like the tortured look he has when awake. And his eyelashes are so long and golden. I don't think I ever seen such beautiful eyelashes on a man before.

When I return to the nurse station, everybody gives me weird looks. Nurse Jackson asks me how Peeta is doing. I write down his vitals while listening to how the whole incident came to be. The nurse went to give him his meds as usual and he started screaming for help and throwing things at her.

"I don't understand why the setback," I think out loud.

"Maybe seeing his mother today was too much for him," Jackson tells me.

His mother. Oh, I remember his mother. While Peeta's father, a well-known baker in town, had a reputation of being kind and generous, always giving a free cookie to the kids that visited his bakery, his mother had a total opposite kind of reputation. Some people even went as far as call her abusive. I was never close to Peeta, so I don't really know. I never knew her, but she was always kind of rude, especially with those she considered inferior.

I am watching television in the residency when an idea comes to mind. Right in front of me, in the silver screen, with his puffy red lips contorted in a sly smile, Coriolanus Snow, the owner of a pharmaceutical company, is receiving an award for bringing a lot of jobs to town. "Capitol Pharma has brought so much to our community," Caesar Flickerman, the news anchor, speaks on the electronic device.

"You have to admire his bravery", says his partner, Effie Trinket, "to hold up after his family suffering such a terrible tragedy."

"Of course, lets not forget Mister Snow is the brother of the widow of the Baker Slicer's victims," he says. "And his mother," Trinket adds, with a sad smile.

It feels like the puzzle pieces are coming together. His reaction to her visit the day before, the fact that it was her mother who found Peeta and called the police, the strange behavior that could easily be explained by substance abuse. Johanna Mason's words resonate in my head: a substance that was not found, perhaps because it wasn't what the doctors were looking for?

I choke on my food. What could possible bring a person to commit such a crime and then frame his own son? To do such a thing she would have to be an absolute monster. But… I find myself more and more convinced as I ponder on it. Mrs. Mellark was always looking down on those with little money—like my family—and talking about his wealthy brother who works on pharmaceuticals. Could she be happy with a man who only owned a bakery and had no means to take her to distant places and buy her expensive clothes? Maybe she wanted to get rid of her husband for some reason…

I think about my psychology classes and how I read about this syndrome—Münchausen by proxy—when a person makes another one sick, typically a child or an elderly on their care. Peeta is hardly a child anymore, but still living with his parents she could tamper on his food or something like that. His brother being the owner of a pharmaceutical, she could have had access to all kinds of drugs.

It might not make complete sense, but it feels like I'm onto something so that morning I look for Doctor Aurelius and tell him my theory.

"It is a strange coincidence, sure," the doctor agrees, "but it does not necessarily means she's doing this to him. For us to talk about Münchausen syndrome imposed on another, she would have to gain something out of his hospitalization… And it would not explain the murders, I think," he shakes his head. "We are not the detectives here, Miss Everdeen."

But even though he brushes off my theory, when I come back on Friday, I discover his mother can no longer visit him.

A couple of days later, a detective comes to the hospital to interview the doctor and Peeta himself. I am pleasantly surprised that it is my childhood friend, Gale Hawthorne. Gale and I were very close when we were both teenagers. Even though he's two years older than me, his father died in the same mining accident than mine and he lived right next door to my aunt Sae, where I went to live after my mother had to be admitted in this hospital.

We used to spend a lot of time together, out in the near woods, until he turned eighteen and joined the police force. He came by sometimes, but it wasn't the same and then I went to college and we stop running into each other. That is until today.

"It's been so long," he breathes into my hair when we hug.

I laugh. "Yeah, like six years or something. How have you been?"

"Fine, fine…you know me, all work and no fun," he smirks. "I bet you are the same story".

"Something like that," I smile. There are a million things that people who have not seen each other in that long could talk about, million things to catch up on but I find my thoughts drifting in another direction. It somehow feels like destiny or something of that source that he is the detective in Peeta's case and perhaps my opportunity to bring my theory to the authorities. "So, you're assigned to the Mellark's case."

"Yes, the Baker Slicer" he says, completely serious again. I must make a face at the name because he looks apologetically. "Sorry, it's kind of catchy".

"And… how are things looking up for him?" I inquire, trying to appear nonchalant.

"I can't discuss details with you, Catnip," he replies. "It's a strange case, but there's a lot of pressure with all the media coverage it has."

"Are they sure he did it? I mean, that he meant to do it," I say. Gale looks at me funny so I expand: "I was here when he first arrived and he was so out of himself."

"Well, his best shot is that the doctors find that he can allege reason of insanity. Otherwise, he's kind of screwed. That was a real blood bath," he says.

"Could there be another explanation?" I murmur. "I mean, just humor me…what if he witnessed the killings and that traumatized him so now he doesn't remember what happened?"

"Well, that sounds like out of a novel… and not a good one," he laughs. When he sees I am not laughing, his face turns serious again.

"At best we could charged him for manslaughter," Gale says. "He did kill those two men, Katniss. And they were his family."

"I really don't believe he did," I let the words slip.

Gale looks at me with sadness in his eyes. "Don't do this to yourself, Katniss. You have it hard enough as it is."

It's a cheap shot, but the crazy family card won't stop me. "Did you know that his uncle owns a pharmaceutical company? Have you talk with his mother? I bet her alibi doesn't convince you… You said this was a weird case!" I insist.

"Of course I know all that! You don't have to tell me how to do my job, Katniss!" he glares at me. We looked at each other for a moment and our anger dissipates. I take the opportunity to try to make him understand my point.

"You know me, Gale", I say. "I don't trust people easily." Gale smiles faintly at this and nods. "But somehow, I trust him… Would you consider the possibility that he might be innocent?"

Gale looks at me in silence for a long time. Then he nods. "I trust your instincts, Catnip, but I'm not so sure about them right now," he tells me. "However, I'll consider it… You're always the brain out of the two of us."

He kisses me in the cheek and leaves after that.

When I go to check on Peeta that afternoon, he seems very distressed about something. I ask him what is wrong, but he avoids the question easily. His attitude starts to concern me, so I try to make conversation with him.

"I talked with the detective," I tell him.

"You should stay away from me, Katniss. I'm dangerous", he says. I halt, surprised. Where is this coming from? It's because of his conversation with Gale?

"No, you're not," I refute. "And I don't think you've killed anyone. I think you've been framed."

"Framed?" Peeta looks at me in disbelief. "Katniss, trust me! There's nothing I would not prefer to being the responsible for my father and brother's death… But that is ludicrous! They found me on the crime scene, covered in their blood. I did it, Katniss! I did it!"

"How can you know that? You don't even remember doing it!" I insist.

"Because I was psychotic! I was out of myself!" he yells. His face contorts in pain and I can see the tears threatening to fall. He really thinks he did it. "Why do you insist on looking for strange theories when the answer is right in your face?" he whispers.

I stop on my place to think about this. Why can I let it go? Why can I accept that he might have committed this crime? The idea feels like a poison running through my body and tainting every cell and tissue. I shake my head. It's not possible. It's like my whole body rejects the sole notion of him being a psychopath.

"Because I can't believe that you did any of that", I say. I close the space between us and hold his trembling hands on my own. "You could never do anything to hurt the ones you love. I don't believe it for a second."

We're so close. I can smell his breath, warm and with a hint of mint. I close my eyes and press my lips against his. He wraps me up in his arms and deepens the kiss. I've never felt anything like this before, warm all around me, his whole presence almost intoxicating to the point I start to feel light-headed. I don't want this moment ever to end.

But all to soon, he pulls away from me.

"We can't… I'm sick, Katniss. They don't even know what is that triggers my psychotic breaks. I'm dangerous," he takes a step back. "Please, trade places with another volunteer. I don't think we should see each other so much."

I step out of the room, still very confused. I go to the nurse station and find everybody avoiding eye contact with me. Nurse Boggs pulls me aside and gives me a glass of water. "Miss Katniss, this is not healthy for you," he says. "This boy… you have to remember why he is here."

I nod absentmindedly and he sighs. "You are a very promising young girl, Miss Katniss, and I'm sure someday you will be an amazing nurse, but you have to take care of yourself. You're changing rooms with Miss Clove as from tonight. I really don't want to report some certain misconducts I witness today" he looks at me pointedly.

I look at him startled. How does he now about that kiss?

"There are cameras on every room, Miss Katniss" he shakes his head at me. I mentally hit myself in the face.

"Then perhaps you should report me" I sigh. He's right. I am being irrational, inappropriate and completely unprofessional to the point where I barely recognize myself, and all for a boy. I cringe.

"Don't worry about it," he laughs. "We all make mistakes… Everybody does crazy thing when they are in love."

Am I in love? Is that why I have been acting this? I shake my thoughts away and go back to work. If there's anything I have learn after years of loosing people is that sitting to mourn does not help. It only brings you down faster. When you keep yourself busy you can't keep your mind of your problems too. So, that's what I do.

A week passes and I successfully avoid seeing Peeta. It's not the same about not thinking about him, though. At home, at school, at the hospital, all my thoughts seem to drift in his direction. It's like I am an addict and going through withdrawal, craving for him at all hours, sometimes whispering his name alone in my car. It feels like a break up, even if there was no real romantic relationship between us.

I eat ice cream, I go out jogging a lot, I go out with Madge and Johanna, who unsuccessfully try to get me interested in random guys in a bar. Every week I want to take his room from Clove, go and sit next to him, play poker with him, kiss him again. But I refrain. It's not right. He's a patient here and he stated pretty clearly that he can't be with me… and probably doesn't want to either.

After a particularly bad night shift, I go home to try to sleep a little before going for a run. I must nod off while drinking my tea, because the next thing I know is that I am being awoken by my ringtone.

When I look at my phone I find Gale's face on the screen. "Hey, Catnip!" he answers my weak hello. "You might want to turn on your T.V. and check on the news. And by the way, thanks for the push in the right direction," his merry laugh is the last thing I hear before I throw the device across the room and turn on my television.

All the channels are talking about the same thing, showing the same footage: Coriolanus Snow and Marla Mellark being arrested for the murders of Vader and Rye Mellark. "Apparently, Mister Mellark had witness his wife being participant on illegal activities regarding his brother in-law's company. The police speculate they tried to silence him with bribery but he refuse. Eventually they executed an elaborated plan in which they frame Marla's youngest son as the murderer while drugging him."

"Capitol Pharma is under investigation for the traffic of illegal drugs such as their genetically modified invention, the Trackerjacket, a powerful hallucinogen that makes people very violent and might be what they used against Peeta Mellark, formerly known as the Baker Slicer".

I jump and grab my jacket and my car keys. When I get to the hospital, Thom, the doorman, looks curious about my presence. "Did you change your shift with someone? 'Cause you're kind of late," he laughs.

"No, no, just… I forgot something…" I lie. He smiles and lets me in. I run the gravelly road and barely say a couple of hellos to the nurses I pass by, while I go directly to his room. He is there, smiling to another blonde, with features very similar to his own. Another brother, perhaps?

"Hey," he smiles at me. "Did you see it on the news?"

"Yes, I came here as soon as I heard" I reply. His brother smiles at me and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. The moment he leaves the room I jump to his arms and hug him fiercely. "I knew it! I knew you were innocent!"

"I can't believe you, Katniss! You believe in me even when I didn't," he says as his eyes shine while looking at me. "The detectives say that it was this drug my mother was sneaking into my food. That's why after a while in here I started to get better…"

"And why you had that setback when she came to see you," I interrupt him.

"Yeah… man, I always though my uncle was weird but I never though he was a drug-dealer."

He grabs my hand then and interlaces his fingers with mine. My stomach does a somersault and I smile.

"Have you though about what are you going to do once they clear you?" I ask him, still holding his hand.

"I have given it some thoughts, yes," he smiles. "There's this girl I've been dying to ask on a date".

**THE END.**


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